Is This Even Still a House Call? I Had to Go All the Way into Orbit
by MedlinTauroniell
Summary: MST3K - With Joel suddenly under the weather, the bots have to call on the only doctor they know. Three guesses who it is, and the first two don't count.


By the time Joel shuffled into the Satellite of Love's galley, Crow and Tom Servo had been up for hours.

"Oh hey, Joel! Joel, look!" Servo called, before he had a chance to stumble towards the coffee pot, "Check it out, we made smoothies!"

"And in a variety of flavors," Crow added, "We've got strawberry-"

"Banana-"

"Strawberry-banana-"

"Pina colada-"

"Pina colada with strawberries and/or bananas-"

"Mixed summer berry-"

"And, if you're feeling a little avant-garde, we have our green smoothie!" Crow gestured grandly at the unappetizing glass on the end, "It contains kiwi, kale, broccoli, spinach, seaweed, and the nagging sense of futility that comes with the knowledge that – in the long run – drinking this disgusting healthy gunk won't change a thing."

Joel had remained remarkable unresponsive through their whole pitch. Now, he seemed focused only on his steaming mug of black coffee. He winced slightly as he lowered himself into a chair.

"That's great, you guys," was all he said.

The robots looked at each other. This was not the response they were hoping for. Worse yet, Joel was far too dead to the world to even pick up on their annoyance.

"You're not as excited about this as we hoped you'd be," Crow sulked, crestfallen.

"Yeah, what gives?" said Servo, "Here we are, trying to make healthy choices with our breakfast. Aren't you proud of us?"

"Of course I am."

Joel managed a smile and it was… well, to be honest, it was pathetic, even by the standards of his occasionally lethargic demeanor. Worryingly so.

"You, uh… you okay there, buddy?" asked Servo.

"Oh, I'm fine. I just-" Joel shivered, and burrowed further into his bathrobe, "Is it just me, or is it really cold in here? I'm gonna have to check the environmental settings."

"The Satellite of Love's environmental conditions are at normal levels," Magic Voice chimed in helpfully, "Are you sure you're feeling alright, Joel?"

"Sure I'm sure. It's fine. I'll be fine."

Joel's gentle reassuring tone was undermined as his body was wracked by another shiver, followed by a coughing fit. Crow's annoyance faded, and he sat down next to Joel.

"You're not fooling anybody, y'know," he said, "Maybe you oughta go back to bed for a while."

Joel shook his head. "I can't. There's an experiment today, and I've still gotta finish work on my invention exchange, not to mention the piles of laundry that need-"

"Come on, we can handle doing the laundry!" Servo interrupted, "And we'll wake you up in plenty of time for you to finish your invention. Seriously, Joel, you're looking like death warmed over here."

Joel hesitated. Even if he was technically trapped up there, he felt a certain sense of responsibility to keep everything running smoothly on the SOL, and to take care of his little robot buddies. He couldn't very well slack off just because he was feeling a little under the weather. Oh, alright, he was feeling terrible, but that still was no excuse. This was his home – sorta – and they were his family – more or less – and, well… The bots did look kinda worried about him (and he wasn't sure how Tom Servo managed it, not having a real face and all). Joel smiled faintly.

"Okay, if it'll make you guys feel better, I'll go back to bed. Promise you'll come get me at least an hour before the Mads call?"

"We promise!" said Servo.

"Yeah, cross our hearts," Crow added.

Satisfied, Joel hugged his robe more tightly around himself and shuffled back off to his room.

True to their word, Tom Servo and Crow did the laundry without getting distracted… mostly. Gypsy, in her undying loyalty to Joel, kept checking in on them to make sure they weren't getting up to any hijinks. She managed to intervene _just_ before Crow was able to convince Servo that they should turn the laundry room into a giant bubble bath. But soon enough, the laundry was washed, dried, and folded (by Crow) and/or hung up (by Servo), and they headed down the hall to wake Joel up so they could all get ready for that week's experiment.

They found him curled up in bed, buried under every single blanket he owned.

"Hey, Joel?" Crow said, nudging his shoulder, "Joel, wake up. It's time to get ready."

"Rise and shine," Servo sing-songed, "It's a beautiful day!"

Joel groaned involuntarily, and that somehow segued into a cough. He rubbed at his eyes, pushing aside the mountain of blankets to sit up.

"Whoa…" Crow looked him over, "How're you feeling now?"

"Just like I said: I'm fine," said Joel, not sounding fine in the slightest, "Just needed to catch up on a little sleep, that's all."

Joel stood – and was immediately overwhelmed by a tidal wave of headrush. He would've faceplanted on the floor if Crow hadn't caught him. With Servo's help, they were both able to tip him back into bed.

"Actually, you know what? Silly us, we woke you up too soon," Servo faked a laugh, shooting Crow a look that urged him to play along.

"Oh… yeah. Yeah! Absolutely," Crow lied, "You've got tons of time. _Hours_. No hurry at all. You just get yourself tucked back in there, and we'll come back later, m'kay pumpkin?"

"Just out of curiosity, though… Where exactly is the invention you're working on, and did you write up any blueprints or anything?"

"All in the workroom," Joel croaked, "Promise you won't touch anything, okay? Next week we'll work on something together."

"Sure! Of course we promise," said Crow, as he and Servo backed out of the room, "Go back to sleep."

Joel shivered once again, and nestled deeper into the blankets. Once the robots were out of earshot, Crow lowered his voice conspiratorially.

"Servo, I have a confession to make," he said, "When I promised we wouldn't touch Joel's invention, I was crossing my fingers."

"I would've been, too, if I had functional limbs," said Servo.

"So... are we gonna wreck it?"

"What? No, we're not gonna wreck it! Focus, Crow! That loveable sleepy-eyed dope is the closest thing to a father we'll ever have, and he could be dying for all we know. We have to finish that invention and keep the Mads off his back."

"That is noble and completely boring of you, Servo. I'm with ya."

"Wait, that's not-"

"Would you just-"

"Did you read Joel's instructions at all?"

"Of course I did! I have them right here, see?"

"You're holding them upside-down!"

A blinking red light on the desk interrupted the bots' bickering before it could come to blows. With a resounding _clang_, the already mangled invention fell to the deck and – somehow, bizarrely – started smoking.

"Oh, great," Servo grumbled, "Now the Mads are calling, and we don't have anything for the invention exchange because _somebody_ didn't follow the directions!"

"Relax already, will ya?" said Crow, "Just leave all the talking to me."

"Well, in that case, we're all doomed. Fantastic."

Crow ignored Servo's sarcasm and hit the button. The usual view of Deep 13 appeared on the screen, with Dr. Forrester and TV's Frank putting the finishing touches on an unidentifiable mass of cables and scaffolding.

"Hello, booby," Dr. Forrester greeted, glancing over his shoulder but not quite looking at the screen, "As I'm sure you can see, our invention exchange this week is something truly exceptional. Of course, we wouldn't want to upstage you too badly, so why don't you go first?"

"Right! Well," said Crow, "Our invention exchange is, uh… It's… Hey, Cambot, can you get a better angle on it at all? It's sorta melted into the floor at this point."

Cambot made a valiant effort, to little avail. Crow tried to vamp, rambling aimlessly while Servo tried to play it casual. Unfortunately, none of this was terribly convincing, and it gave the Mads just enough time to get suspicious.

"Hold on a second…" Dr. Forrester stepped forward, brows furrowed, "Why isn't Joel with you?"

"Well, y'see, sirs, Joel is… that is to say, he's…" Crow laughed nervously. Shooting Servo a panicked look, he whispered, "Help."

In the background, the complicated set-up tumbled to the floor, tangling Frank up along with it. Dr. Forrester ignored the chaos, perhaps out of habit. He folded his arms and focused his full attention on the screen.

"You, bubble-head," he said, gesturing at Servo, "Explain what's going on here."

Servo sighed. "Real smooth there, Crow. Alright, Dr. Forrester, we'll level with you – Joel's really sick, and-"

Dr. Forrester threw back his head and laughed.

"The old 'sick captive' ploy. You think I'm gonna fall for that one, do you? Ha! It's the oldest trick in the book. Ah, I needed that laugh… Now, let's see if we can't encourage Joel to join us, hmm? Why don't I just lower the oxygen levels on the rest of the satellite until he-"

The frantic protestations of the robots nearly blew out the speakers. Dr. Forrester paused, his hand inches from the keyboard.

"You two are serious?" It was and was not a question. "This isn't just one of your games?"

"It's not a game," Servo enunciated.

"Yeah, Joel really is sick and, well… We're really worried about him," said Crow, "We need your help."

"Come on, sir. I mean, we've known Joel for as long as we've been alive, but you've known him longer than that. Do you really think he'd let anything stop him from finishing an invention if he could help it?"

"No. No, he wouldn't," Dr. Forrester's hand returned to his side, and he tilted his head thoughtfully.

"And do you really think we'd be asking _you_ for help if we had any other option? No offense, heh…" Crow cleared his throat awkwardly.

"I'm not bringing the satellite down, if that's what you're asking," Dr. Forrester declared loudly, giving one last stab at getting them to give up the charade.

"We're not," said Servo, "All we're asking is that you make sure Joel's okay. That's it."

Dr. Forrester pondered this turn of events. It wasn't like they hadn't tried half-baked escape attempts before, but most of those banked on trying to dupe Frank into bringing the satellite down. This was different. This seemed… sincere? For all Joel indulged the robots in playacting and games of make-believe, none of them were any better actors than the "stars" of the d-list schlock they were forced to watch. And, more importantly, Dr. Forrester would never allow himself to be taken in by the sort of tricks that worked on Frank. Therefore, if his instinct told him this wasn't a trick, then logic dictated that it must be real.

Still, a trip all the way up to the satellite would put him a whole day behind on his work, not to mention delaying this week's experiment. He heaved a reluctant sigh.

"Alright, I'll come up and take a look at him," he said, "But I'm warning you – I'll have the Institute's missile defense system locked onto the satellite. If there's any kind of funny business, I'll blow the whole thing out of the sky. Understood?"

"Great. Perfect. Love it," said Servo, "How soon can you be up?"

"Wait, are we just gonna gloss over the fact that they have access to missiles?" Crow asked.

Dr. Forrester glanced back at Frank, who had not only failed to extricate himself from the remains of the invention, but had somehow managed to get himself even more tangled up. Well, he couldn't very well leave that just lying around, could he? As his mother had quite literally beaten into his head: a tidy lab is an evil lab. He shook his head, exasperated.

"I'll be there as soon as I get this mess cleaned up," he said, "Oh, come on, Frank! You know that dying on the job isn't going to get you out of helping me with this."

In the intervening hours, Joel's cough only got worse and worse. The robots looked in on him every now and then, but didn't want to risk waking him. He might try to get up again. Crow and Servo were designed to distract themselves – and Joel – from whatever terrible things they had to deal with. They knew this. But somehow, they didn't have the heart to do more than drag out the old checkerboard and wait for Dr. Forrester to arrive.

Of course, that didn't mean that Servo wasn't a little annoyed when Crow accidentally overturned the board just as he was about to win. At least he had a good reason for it. Magic Voice had just whispered that a shuttle was preparing to dock with the satellite. Crow hurriedly swept the game pieces into a neat pile.

"You really think Forrester is gonna be able to help?" he said.

"Well, I…"

Servo caught himself before saying that he didn't think Dr. Forrester could make things any worse. That'd be a bald-faced lie.

"Hey, weirder things have happened, right?" he said instead, "Come on, let's go meet him."

They arrived just as the airlock was opening. Dr. Forrester stuck his head out into the hall, peering around suspiciously. Seeing no signs of a trap, he stepped fully into the satellite.

"No funny business, remember?" he said sternly, "I've got the remote control for the missile defense system right in my pocket."

"Alright, alright. Follow me," said Servo.

Dr. Forrester pushed past and nearly sent him careening into the wall.

"Follow you, like I didn't design this satellite myself," he scoffed, striding ahead, "I'll lead the way, thank you very m-"

Dr. Forrester stopped short, whirling back to glare suspiciously at the robots, forcing Servo to veer off abruptly. Crow jumped back with a clatter.

"But that's just what you want, isn't it?" Dr. Forrester leveled an accusing finger at each of them in turn, "You're hoping that I'll turn my back and you'll be able to catch me unawares. Well! I've got news for you tinker toys: nobody catches Clayton Forrester with his pants down! You, gumball machine! You go first."

"Is this guy for real?" Crow muttered out of the side of his beak.

"Looks like it," Servo sighed, hovering on ahead, "As I was saying: follow me."

This was the first time in years Dr. Forrester had seen the satellite. Even after all this time, he was extremely proud of his work. He'd personally designed it to be as comfortable and homey as possible, complete with kitchen, dinette, and laundry room. And all outfitted with large windows into the vast emptiness of space, for a constant cruel reminder to his victim that they were trapped hundreds of miles above the earth with no hope of escape. There was even a guest bedroom, not that they'd be having any guests! Dr. Forrester suppressed an evil chortle. Truly, this was a masterful application of mad science.

A fit of coughing echoed from the main bedroom as Dr. Forrester approached the door. Unable to help himself, the doctor cast a curious glance around the room. Curiosity was the foundation of science, after all. That, and the desire to bend the forces of the universe to one's will. Besides, he wanted to see what Joel had done with the place.

Most of the furniture hadn't moved, but then again, most of it was bolted in place. However, it looked like Joel had cobbled together a workbench. The work surface was littered with prototype bits of old inventions, and what Dr. Forrester suspected were the beginnings of future ones. Tools hung neatly from the wall behind it, and around most of the room, actually. The workbench itself was, oddly enough, set right underneath the bedroom window. The windows on this side of the satellite faced away from the Earth, looking out into the infinite reaches of space. Well, if Joel wanted to voluntarily torture himself with such a view while he was working, Dr. Forrester wasn't going to complain. He took it as a good sign that Joel was inching closer to his breaking point.

Perhaps it wasn't so odd that Joel would choose to set up a workspace here instead of using the satellite's designated workroom. When the urge to invent struck, it was bother to have to go elsewhere just to work on it. That's why Dr. Forrester had moved into the lab full time. Although… this did raise the question of what exactly the SOL's workroom had been repurposed as.

But he was getting distracted. Dr. Forrester turned his attention from his test subject's decorating choices to the man himself. Joel had propped himself up on one elbow, and was trying to catch his breath. Hearing Crow and Servo come in, he looked up.

"What are you doing here, guys?" Joel asked hoarsely, "You're supposed to be getting ready for the…"

Joel stared past the bots at the gangly, green-coated figure on the doorway.

"Dr. Forrester?" He stared for a second more, and then his gaze sort of slid off to the left. He nodded to himself, "Oh, I get it. I'm delirious."

Joel coughed again weakly and lowered himself back onto the pillow.

"Not exactly how I'd describe you," Dr. Forrester chuckled, "'Delusional,' maybe. 'Dense.' 'Dull,' certainly."

For a moment, he struggled to think of a synonym for 'pathetic' that could continue the alliteration, but came up empty. Well, his victim was far too out of it to appreciate the wordplay anyway. He sat down on the edge of Joel's bed.

"Now, shut up, will you? I haven't got all day."

"Whatever you say, Dr. Figment-of-my-Delirium," Joel mumbled.

Dr. Forrester rolled his eyes and opened his bag. The robots weren't terribly specific on Joel's symptoms, so he'd prepared for everything from acid reflux to appendicitis. That cough was a good place to start though. The tin twosome had started whispering in the background, so Dr. Forrester ordered them to shut up as well, and retrieved a stethoscope.

Yes, there it was – a telltale crackle in Joel's lungs, the occasional wheeze when he inhaled. Just as Dr. Forrester had suspected. He sat back, eyeing the bedridden bozo in annoyance.

"Well, I'm pretty sure it shouldn't be possible to develop pneumonia in high Earth orbit with no human contact, but congratulations, my little space cadet – you managed it. I'm tempted to be impressed. I've never seen a feat of feebleness like this from anyone besides Frank." He stowed the stethoscope and fished out an IV setup, "Your arm, please, Jolene."

"Say, what's that stuff?" asked Crow.

"Medicine," Dr. Forrester explained, as he hooked Joel up to the drip, "My own concoction. It'll help him breathe, clear up the infection."

"Wait, just like that?" Servo hovered closer, confused, "Without subjecting him to any mad science?"

"Please," the doctor scoffed, "If I wanted to abuse my medical degree, that's what I have Frank for."

"Yeah, but still, you've got him at your mercy, and you're not gonna make us grovel or plead or beg for his life or anything?" asked Crow, "Wow, that's a bummer."

"Not that we're complaining or anything, of course. It's just that I'd brushed up my most moving rendition of 'Bring Him Home,' y'know, from Les Mis…"

"And I'd prepared a touching speech! It was a good one, too. A real tear-jerker. I was pretty proud of it, actually."

"I heard you guys rehearsing earlier," Joel interjected hoarsely, "It was some of your best work."

"Oh! Well, thanks Joel," Servo bobbed modestly, "Maybe we'll do a reenactment for the Mads later, if they're interested."

"Well, I'm not one to turn down a good groveling," said Dr. Forrester, "But much as I enjoy watching him suffer – and believe me, I do enjoy it – the longer he's out of commission, the longer my experiment is delayed. There. Why don't you just… take this week off? You're no good to me like this."

A knowing smile added itself to Joel's dazed expression. His head lolled to the side so he could look at the bots.

"See, this is how I know I'm hallucinating, guys," he said, "The _real_ Dr. Forrester would never cut me any slack like this."

"'The real Dr. Forrester would never-?'" the man himself spluttered, "Well, that just shows how much you know about mad science, and how much you know about me! You think I'd let pneumonia kill you before my experiment is complete? I've invested far too much in you to let you get out of this _that_ easily. Why, I'd have to start from scratch! I'd have to find a way to account for all the cumulative psychological damage these movies have already done to you. And I'd have to find a replacement for you. Do you think there's some sort of temp agency for text subjects? Do you think they grow on trees?"

"Wait, is there?" asked Servo.

"Yeah, do they?" added Crow, "Because I don't see someone like Joel growing on a tree. Being dug up like a turnip, maybe, but-"

"No, there isn't, and no, they don't!" Dr. Forrester snapped.

He took a breath, composing himself by way of straightening out his lab coat and raking his fingers through his hair, making it stand on end more wildly than ever. It'd be nigh on impossible to find another test subject that was a true multitasker, like Joel was. Dr. Forrester had found that it really did streamline things when the victim of your experiment and your rival were the same person. And while that rivalry wasn't exactly essential to the experiment, it'd certainly be inconvenient to lose it.

"Now," he went on, pulling a Tupperware container out of his bag, "You, the one with functioning arms – go put this in the fridge. Make sure Joel eats it when he's feeling better."

"Uh, sure. Okay." Crow eyed Tupperware's contents, "What is it?"

"It's soup, obviously."

"Oh? Did Frank make it?" asked Servo.

"Frank, making soup?" Dr. Forrester bristled again, "If there's one thing that soup and science have in common, it's patience. And Frank has none of that."

"Wow, sir," said Crow, "We never knew you cared."

Grumbling under his breath about correlation and causation and jumping to wild conclusion unsupported by concrete evidence, Dr. Forrester repacked his bag and stood up.

"Well, I've wasted more than enough time on the lot of you today, so I'll be taking my leave," he said. Straightening his coat once again, he looked back down at Joel, who was just about to nod off, "As for you, remember this: I'm giving you this week off, but I expect your next invention exchange to be something impressive, and you can expect the next experiment to be something truly awful. Understood?"

Joel nodded. "Understood, sir."

Satisfied with his own dire proclamation, Dr. Forrester turned to go.

"Hey, sir?"

Dr. Forrester paused, sighing. "Yes, what is it, Joel?"

"Thanks."

Drawing himself upright, the doctor turned on his heel and marched back over to the bed, fully prepared to lecture Joel against getting any silly notions that he'd done this out of kindness or anything. But in the two seconds it took Dr. Forrester to walk back, Joel had already fallen asleep. He seemed to be breathing easier, too. Good. That was good. Because it meant the medicine was working, that's all. Not that he had any doubt that it would.

"Pathetic," he muttered, and strode out the door.

Crow and Servo tagged along behind. As Crow ducked into the galley to put the soup away, he shot Servo a glance. Servo snickered quietly, and nodded in agreement.

"Hey, Dr. Forrester," he called, "Can we interest you in a smoothie for the road?"


End file.
